


Like Fenrir in chains

by Cirilla9



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Dubious Morality, Humiliation, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Non-Consensual Bondage, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slavery, just pure admiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Ivar decides what to do with his prisoner.





	Like Fenrir in chains

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing revelatory, absolutely nothing. Just written down this amazing scene from the show.

****\- What is the point of keeping him alive? Why bring him here? Why spare his life and waste food on him? Kill him already, Ivar, slit his throat or crucify him as you wanted to do it in England.

  
\- No.

  
\- Why? – asked Hvitserk incredulously. – You’ve already shown him off as a war trophy to everyone in here if that was your point. Do you plan on keeping him forever as a pet?

  
\- He’s not a pet. He’s like a wild beast, like Fenrir in chains. I want him to fight for me, Hvitserk.

  
Hvitserk laughed but shut up at Ivar’s glare.

  
\- Gods put Fenrir in chains because he was too wild to control him. With your Christian it will be the same. As soon as you’ll let him out of bounds he will turn against you. You cannot tame a wolf.

  
\- And I don't intend to. A wolf without fangs is no longer a fighter, - said Ivar, playing idly with the hilt of a sword taken from the captured Christian. - I only want him to bite our enemies' side. That traitorous bitch... - Ivar's fingers gripped the sword tighter.

  
\- It's impossible, - judged Hvitserk. - Me, you, Lagertha or Harald - we're all the same  indistinguishable enemies for him.

  
\- We’ll see, - mused Ivar. – I’ll try to convince him and when he refuses, then I’ll crucify him, - he reasoned.

  
They all spoke like Hvitserk. His men, Harald’s men; the king himself. But they did not understand. They didn’t witness what Ivar did. They didn’t see him in a fight as he fought with abandon, lashing out at his enemies, uncaring of the odds that were so heavily against him. There was no hope for winning yet he didn’t think of surrender, he didn’t hesitate even for a moment.

  
Ivar still had the scene before his eyes: the blood splashing everywhere as Heahmund cut the living crowd of his enemies flooding him, all alone above them upon his horse, a lonely knight against the savage hordes. All that physical strength he possessed put to use in a fight; the perfectly shaped and well trained body moving swiftly between dealing next lethal blows; all the determination visible on his face.

  
He was like berserker, butchering without remorse, without deliberation or doubt. Ivar had never before saw someone killing that beautifully.

  
Even as they held him later and brought before Ivar, he still trashed and cursed them all. There was no trace of dread in his eyes. They had captured a fearless wolf.

  
Ivar wanted all that energy harnessed to his purposes but not through keeping the bishop in chains. It was funny at the beginning but he couldn’t keep him like that forever. It would affect his strength, weaken his spirit or will to fight. He already looked miserable though far from defeated.

  
Ivar needed subtler methods to gain what he wanted. And it didn’t even include breaking the Christian. It would be enough to unleash him upon Ivar’s enemies and only make sure after the fight the beast won’t attack its rightful masters as so many warned him. But there were countless ways to assure that. Now the most pressing matter was to convince Heahmund to join his forces.

  
If that would turn to be impossible, it was better to kill the captive than to have him decaying slowly in slavery, watching how he ceases to be the man Ivar admired.

  
So Ivar had made him an offer, laid before him the only choice he had: fighting alongside his captor or dying from his hand. He had used convincing arguments and soft words and left the prisoner to think about it all for a time. Now came the moment of truth as Ivar ordered the bishop brought before him.

* * *

 

They led him through the dirty streets of heathens’ village. Crowd gathered around mocked him and insulted as the Savior’s once on His path to Golgotha. They kicked and showed him and laughed as he landed in the mud. He was their entertainment. The only one that kept quiet was Ivar.

  
The young Viking prince silenced the cheering crowd and they listened to him. Ivar took up a knife from the table.

  
\- Now we decide whether you’ll fight with us or whether I’ll kill you.

  
The tip of a knife was pressed gently to where Heahmund’s heart was and Ivar lowered his voice so only the bishop could hear him.

  
\- Nothing is keeping you alive but me.

  
\- Why won’t you give me the knife, - rasped Heahmund, his voice harsh from days of severe treatment.

* * *

  
Ivar looked at his prisoner’s face, unsure what to expect, searching the answer. Slowly he handed the weapon over. His eyes stayed glued to Heahmund as he directed the knife at himself and turned to the crowd.

  
Did he make a mistake? He shall not be giving him the knife. Now the Christian will kill himself and Ivar wouldn’t even be the one ending his life. He wouldn’t have the satisfaction of severing the thin line between man’s life and death, feeling the blood trickle down through his fingers, leaving the Christian’s body rapidly and stealing his life with it.

  
He wouldn’t be the last one Heahmund will see in this life.

  
Ivar held his breath, leaned forward in a tensed anticipation as the people crowed and urged the Christian to commit a suicide.

  
But then someone cried “coward” louder and the next moment the knife was plunged into his body, not bishop’s.

* * *

  
Heahmund thrusted the knife into the provoker’s throat, steel entered the soft flesh easily, blood spilled onto him. The bishop spat in the face of his dying enemy before letting his body fall to the ground. The crowd went quiet now and Heahmund felt the wicked satisfaction at how the heathens suddenly regarded him with newly gained respect. Some looked unsure, some even afraid.

  
Suddenly the insane laugh pierced through the silence and Heahmund turned to see Ivar cackling, clasping his hands at the sight of a murder committed before him. His blue eyes drunk the sight of Heahmund, face was full of open admiration. At his side Hvitserk smirked.

  
The rest of the Vikings joined their leader’s amusement gradually. Though not so confidently at first, soon they were scalding Heahmund’s name.

* * *

  
\- I take it you will fight with us! – cried Ivar, excited. This was exactly what he wanted, this was everything he needed. To have the greatest Christian warrior at his side, to let him loose upon his enemies, as he will be dealing vengeance on those responsible for his mother’s death.


End file.
